


Reckoning

by thejourneymaninn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood, Fenhawke is only mentioned, Grief, Hawke has been left in the fade, M/M, Pain, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Revenge, Tumblr Prompt, Violence, but Hawke’s death is heavily implied, dealing with grief in unhealthy ways, no actual character death in this fic, the inquisitor gets his ass kicked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 11:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10535625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: A grieving Fenris confronts the inquisitor about leaving Hawke behind in the fade. Things don’t go well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on tumblr: "hello hello i was wondering if you could write a quick think about fenris absolutely kicking the inquisitors ass for leaving a romanced hawke (male pref) in the fade :3?"
> 
> The prompt pretty much sums it up: the inquisitor is getting his ass kicked.  
> As this is about Hawke having been left behind in the fade, obvious warnings for implied character death, and also warnings for angst, violence and blood. As far as ass-kickings go, it’s relatively tame and not too graphic, but still, Fenris is definitely not using his words here.

There had been no warning. A mere moment ago, his feet had been firmly planted on the ground – and then they _hadn’t_ been. As his back hit the table, sending equipment flying all around him, the inquisitor couldn’t hold back a groan. Turned out the elf had good aim…So the war room hadn't been the best option after all. Sharp objects lodged in his back, days of careful planning thrown across the floor, and to top it all off he’d slashed his thigh on one of Cullen’s stupid knives. He could see the blood seeping out of the cut and into the map, staining the waters of Lake Calenhad. It wasn’t nearly as frightening as the sight of the elf, approaching him with measured steps, white hair and tattoos gleaming alike, his face as calm a mask as when he had first set foot into Skyhold.

_I should have listened to Varric._

Fenris’ grabbed him, hauling him up and then, everything was agony, vision blurring with _pain_ , so much of it, everywhere, and a feeling that was just… _wrong_ ; the elf’s hands – Maker, they were… _inside him_. Deep in his chest, an eerie, pulsing blue blinding his bulging eyes. Every instinct screamed to spare himself the sight, yet the horror cast a spell that was stronger, making it impossible to look away. Or to move. He couldn’t risk the elf’s hands slipping, as ridiculous as it was to worry about that considering they were moving straight towards his…

A voice pierced through the ringing in his ears, deep, rumbling, hissing with terrifying, cold control. “I will not kill you. He thought you deserving of his aid. I shall respect his wishes and not crush your heart. But rest assured,” Fenris’ face moved closer, hovering right above his, the inquisitor’s field of vision reduced to nothing but hatred and pain encased in shimmering green, “that is the only part of you I will not crush.”

As fast as he was strong, the elf removed his hands from where they had no right of being.

_Breathe_.

He wasn’t even granted a full inhale before he hit the wall.

This time, the sound of something breaking didn’t come from a table.

_Ribs, most likely._

The same measured steps, a bare foot descending on his fingers, a fist in his face, sending his head crashing back into the wall.

With the hand that hadn’t been mangled, he tried to contain the blood splattering from his nose. Through a fog of red and black, he blinked up at the elf. Right as another punch knocked the air out of his lungs.

So much rage, leashed so tightly, desperate reins and underneath an abyss, like the bleakness he had sent Hawke into.

He managed to cough out a few words. Along with blood, and something that looked an awful lot like a tooth.” Someone...someone had to stay behind. I...the wardens...we need... “

His efforts were cut short by a well-aimed kick to the groin.

“Yes”. Another hiss, hitting his ears in drops of liquid disdain. “You chose _them_. They colluded with demons. With _Tevinter_. And you chose them over him. He was a man unlike any other. He was…” The briefest pause, his jaw setting. “He _is_ everything. And you left him there.”

“He…he offered…”

It was impossible not to scream as the elf’s fist reconnected with his already shattered nose.

A murmured “Elf…” from the door had Fenris’ head whipping around, eyes zeroing in on Varric with precisely the same amount of mercy he had shown the inquisitor.

None.

“And _you_ did not stop it. Were you too busy drinking? Or spinning _stories_?”

Varric’s gaze dropped to his feet. Master of words and strings, yet now he remained silent. Unmoving, apart from a little nod.

Again, the inquisitor was hauled to his feet and sent flying across the room, albeit with somewhat less force than the times before. He landed in a heap of twisted limbs and bruises. Footsteps approaching. They, too, seemed less forceful now.

A foot stomped on the ground next to his left ear. The impact sent him flinching to the right – where another foot was being planted. His head effectively trapped between them, all he could do was stare at Fenris towering above him.

From this angle, the slight elf was an imposing sight, unblinking eyes fixed on his, hands gesticulating widely. For the first time since he had entered the room, Fenris raised his voice.

_“Bring_. _Him_. _Back_. You have the means. I do not care what it takes and who you have to abandon this time. Bring him back. He is not lost. I WILL NOT ALLOW IT.”

At the final word, his arms dropped to his sides, as if all life had been drained from them. The elf turned on his heel and walked towards the door, allowing the inquisitor only a brief glimpse at his face.

An emptiness as horrifying as the prior rage.

His voice was no less hollow. “For your sake, I hope you have a capable healer.”

A movement to his left, hands probing his injuries as Varric began to fuss over him with helpless determination.

“Well, shit. Where's Blondie when you need him...” 

The inquisitor didn’t pay him any mind, eyes focussed on the elf's retreating back, his stiff gait, the tension in his shoulders. Their shaking was barely noticeable.

He was aware of the pain, throbbing in every single part of his body, from his toes all the way to his hair, but he didn’t really feel it. Not yet. There was no room for anything besides the brute force of despair Hawke had left behind. This was a wound too raw for words, too gaping for forgiveness. When he had sent Hawke to his death, he hadn't realized he wasn’t the only one he was dooming. As Fenris slammed the door shut behind him hard enough to send the floor vibrating, the inquisitor’s whole existence seemed to have been reduced to one single question.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

 

And he had thought Varric’s grief was bad. But then, only half an hour ago, he’d also thought there was no one more frightening than Corypheus. 


End file.
